


Confrontations & Reconciliation

by flakedice



Series: Green Hills [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo needs a hug, Happy Ending, Hobbiton, Hobbits Are Gossips, Homophobia, Life in the Shire, Lobelia up to no good, M/M, So he's going to get one, The Hobbit Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flakedice/pseuds/flakedice
Summary: His letter sent to Thorin, Bilbo waits in the Shire for a reply.





	1. Chapter 1

A thin plume of smoke rose up from the side of Bag End. Lobelia glared up at it in accusation. She couldn't see the source from where she stood on the path, but Lobelia could picture it. Bilbo Baggins perched contentedly on the bench outside Bag End's bay window, blissfully smoking.  
  
Lobelia's mouth thinned. Whatever hopes she'd had of declaring Bilbo mad had failed to gain ground. Soon after the Thain's visit, Bilbo had started going outside again. Visiting the market and taking tea with Primula.   
  
It was hard to convince even the worst gossips that her cousin was turning into a lock-in when he'd wandered past their door just hours before, pale but otherwise respectable. Lobelia scowled. Bilbo had always been lucky that way.   
  
Lobelia’s scowl deepened. Let Bilbo enjoy his victory. She had waited years and a few weeks made little difference.  
  
It wasn't as if Bilbo was going to produce an heir. A grimace pulled her lips tight. With his ... _tastes_ , no proper hobbittess would touch him. Not that Bilbo had the decency to appear normal anymore. Not with his continued show of grief and heart break.  
  
Lobelia's lips thinned. She gave the hidden occupant of Bag End one last glare before stamping off down the path.   
  
Bilbo had put on a good show, she acknowledged grudgingly. What ground she had gained by spreading news of his madness had been lost. Though, Lobelia thought smugly, with gossips like Rosemary Chubb and Dandy Bolger, there would always be whispers. All Bilbo had to do was make one misstep and Lobelia would be able to set the rumours flowing again.  
  
Her eyes narrowed. She'd be watching Bilbo closely over the next few weeks. Distraught as he was, it would likely he would slip up again.   
  
When he did, Lobelia would be waiting. Even if it was taking a ridiculously long time.   
  
Lobelia scowled as she stomped along the path back to her smial. It wasn't as ideally suited as Bag End but it still sat on the crest of a hill. If a slightly smaller one.   
  
She kicked a pebble from the path with a vengeful swing.  
  
It was a fine spring day, edging towards Summer's vital warmth. Most of the inhabitants of Hobbiton were at the market as Lobelia had been. The roads were practically empty as she made her way home. The Shire quiet except for the call of birds and occasional sound of livestock.  
  
So it didn't take Lobelia long, marching along with her purchases swinging from one arm and her parasol from the other, to realise she was hearing something out of place.   
  
Lobelia stopped, parasol planted on the ground, back straightening as her ears twitched. It sounded like a pony. More than one.  
  
Her eyes narrowed. It wasn't unheard of for Hobbits to travel on ponies to market day. Some of the Chubbs had grown so large that they needed a cart to transport themselves and their produce. But very rarely was there more than _one_ pony - entire families tended to cram into overladen wagons.  
  
Lobelia hadn't heard of any mass movements of any of the Clans. There were no celebrations to warrant such a convoy.  
  
Suspicious and curious, Lobelia hiked up her skirts and ran in a crouch up the side of the hill. She took cover behind a small bush, peering over the rise.   
  
Her ears had not deceived her, Lobelia saw with some smugness. Lobelia was known for her sharp hearing; she certainly couldn't be blamed for the fact that she was able to hear fellow Hobbits' conversations from some distance away.  
  
Several ponies were making their way up the road from Bree. They had passed Buckland, taking the less used Bree Road.  
  
And it was clear why. Short, thick figures sat atop the equally sturdy ponies. Those riders were _not_ Hobbits. And sneaking in as they were, they had gone to pains not to raise alarm at their passage.  
  
 _Dwarves_. Lobelia realised in distaste. And there was little reason for dwarves in the Shire. With the exception of one perverted hobbit who had returned only months before with a stolen dwarven hoard.  
  
They must have come for Bilbo, Lobelia thought in satisfaction. Tracking him down to reclaim their treasure. The loss of such riches was a shame - though Lobelia knew Bilbo would have ferreted much away which she would later search for. But if they removed Bilbo for her, then she was one step closer to Bag End.  
  
Mind made up, Lobelia straightened and marched confidently over the rise.  
  
It took a moment for them to spot her, even dressed as she was in her fashionable yellow skirts adorned with exquisite pink heirloom roses. But used to their dark mole tunnels, Lobelia suspected they were only a few short steps from blind under the sun's wholesome rays.  
  
It certainly explained why one of them had chosen to lie with Bilbo. Her mouth twisted in disgust.  
  
The dwarves had drawn to a halt, the slightly larger one at the front watching her with narrowed eyes.  
  
To see her better, no doubt.  
  
Lobelia let out a huff. Hopeless. At this rate Bilbo would be able to avoid them entirely. "If you're looking for Bilbo, you're going the wrong way." She said tartly.  
  
That had a few of them muttering in their low gravelly voices. Most unflattering, like rocks hitting each other. Maybe they liked that.  
  
She shuddered. They were terrible, brutish creatures, strapped with leather, furs and bristling with weapons. Bilbo had long ago lost his mind to run off with them, let alone-  
  
Lobelia choked off that thought with disgust.  
  
"Wrong way?" It was a big bald brute with icy blue eyes. Two axes protruded over his shoulders.  
  
It was a bit overdone if you asked Lobelia. Surely _one_ axe would do. "If you follow that road you'll end up in Bree." It was a very scenic route, a loop that passed through the Shire and back. Most of the drunken Big Folk found themselves back where they started and didn't even realise they'd passed several smials.  
  
The bald dwarf stared at her.  
  
Another, a dark-haired dwarf with a scar on his forehead made a grinding comment that sounded very like an insult.   
  
Lobelia didn't like being insulted. Particularly not when she couldn't understand what was being said. She drew herself upright, all 3 feet, ten inches and stared at the dwarves down the length of her nose. "If you want to find Bilbo," she started tartly, "you need to follow that path-" She pointed her parasol to the narrow trail that they were obviously too blind to see "-up to the large hill topped by the oak. Bag End lies under its branches." Beautifully shaded and with the perfect view of the Shire.  
  
The dwarves stared at her. Two at the back started to whisper at each other, a furious flurry of dwarvish language back and forth.  
  
Lobelia was beginning to despair of them. They must be very simple creatures for possessing such great wealth. It must have been easy for Bilbo to steal from them.  
  
Not, Lobelia thought as she surveyed them dubiously, that they looked very rich. There were no silks or fine cotton, no ribbons in their hair or lining their cloaks. The beads and jewels in their hair, though - _those_ Lobelia could envision a much better use for in broaches and hair pins.  
  
"You'll find Bilbo outside on the bench, smoking." She added helpfully. "Or hiding in his study with his ridiculous scribblings." Lobelia resisted the urge to poke the nearest dwarf with her parasol to get them moving. "I'm sure if you threaten him, he'll tell you where he hides all the jewels."   
  
_That_ garnered a reaction. Harsh shouting broke out among them, the bald one's eyes narrowing at her even more. They made a frightful din, their voices echoing through the valley until one of the dwarves let out a sharp bark that echoed sharply in her ears.  
  
Lobelia glared at the hooded dwarf, scowling at him as he urged his pony forward. Rudely towering over her.  
  
Lobelia scowled up at him, down her nose. Not about to be intimidated by a _dwarf_ of all creatures.  
  
"Jewels?" The dwarf's voice was deep, like distant thunder. "Explain."  
  
Lobelia bristled. How was she to know how much he had? "There was a chest when he came back. Filled with gold and jewels. And the whore's bracelet he stole-"  
  
A scrape of steel cut her off. Quick as a snake, the hooded dwarf had reached out and caught the wrist of the bald dwarf. He'd drawn a dagger that reminded Lobelia of Farmer Maggot's scythe.  
  
Lobelia was affronted but prudently shuffled back a few steps when she was sure the dwarves weren't watching.  
  
The bald dwarf snapped out something, only to be cut short when the hooded dwarf snapped out a harsh phrase. With one last glance at Lobelia, the bald dwarf shoved his dagger back into its sheath.  
  
Lobelia narrowed her eyes at him, tightening her grasp on her parasol and bag of shopping. If he came any nearer, she'd wallop him over his head as hard as she could, simple or not.  
  
The hooded dwarf turned back to her. He reached up with a huge hand, pulling back his hood to reveal a familiar face. Dark, silver-threaded hair, two thick braids hanging down either side of his face, the rest of his long hair free. A coarse, close clipped beard.  
  
Lobelia had only gotten a glimpse but she recognised him from the portrait on Bilbo's desk. She took a step back and then another, revulsion and disgust twisting her face.  
  
Bilbo had lain with this, this _dwarf_.  
  
The dwarf's dark blue eyes drilled into her. "That bracelet belonged to my mother."  
  
A surge of nausea tightened her throat. Lobelia felt ill. Just the very thought of it. What Bilbo had done to _earn_ such wealth. Her lips thinned into a flat disgusted line.  
  
The dwarves were regarding her as if she was something to be scraped off the bottom of their feet. The bald dwarf and the scarred dwarf looked ready to commit murder.  
  
Savages and perverts, unnatural creatures all. Clearly dwarves had no sense of propriety, let alone decency. Not if they were acting as if _her_ words were offensive.  
  
"Then perhaps you should take it back." Lobelia had the satisfaction of seeing the dwarf flinch. At her words, his shoulders drew in slightly under his fallen hood, the cast of his eyes almost wounded. Ashamed, as he should be. Lobelia wielded her words like weapons, on more certain ground, now. "I don't know what customs you dwarves hold-" and she didn't want to "-but in the Shire, we don't condone that sort of behaviour." Something in the dwarf's expression changed, and sensing weakness, Lobelia dared to take a step closer. "Whatever you dragged Bilbo off into, you've ruined his reputation. It's only luck Bag End wasn't taken from him." Yet. She sneered. "He's a disgrace to the Baggins Clan. Better that he had died than return as he is."   
  
A shocked silence rang out.  
  
The dwarf's expression had blanked, his eyes distant. But Lobelia had seen the stricken look flash across his face and knew her words had found their mark. She could see how pale he was beneath his beard.  
  
"Why you-" The bald dwarf broke off into angry dwarvish, his face reddening.  
  
"Thorin." A strangely gangly looking dwarf , younger looking than the others, reached out to clasp the shoulder of the dwarf with the hood.  
  
But the older dwarf turned his pony aside, down toward the narrow path leading to Bag End. Riding past Lobelia like she didn't exist.   
  
The bald dwarf quickly followed him, shooting Lobelia a threatening glare. Two of the other dwarves urged their ponies forward to follow in his wake.  
  
Lobelia found herself staring at the young dwarf. The scarred dwarf sat on the pony beside him and two of the other dwarves remained. But Lobelia had little attention to spare them. She straightened her spine, locking her gaze with him.  
  
For a long moment he simply stared at her, looking at her up and down slowly with an insolent, almost insulting gaze. "You're wrong." He stated quietly but confidently.  
  
He continued before Lobelia had time to bristle. "Bilbo is one of the bravest, most honourable people I know. And all of Arda - Men, Elves and Dwarves know it."   
  
The scarred dwarf nodded furiously in agreement.  
  
The young dwarf didn't give her a chance to answer. He left her gaping after them as he urged his pony after the rest of his party.  
  
Lobelia watched them go, speechless in outrage. Disgusting, _rude_ brutes the lot of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin rode stiffly, guiding his pony almost blindly down the narrow pathway they had missed. Hobbits really were terrible at building roads.  
  
"Wretched woman." Dwalin growled. "Should have wrung her neck."  
  
Thorin blinked; he hadn't been aware of Dwalin riding up beside him. "I doubt Bilbo would welcome us if you attacked his cousin." Not that Thorin was sure he would be very welcoming when they showed up on his doorstep unannounced.  
  
Dwalin snorted. "He'd probably thank us if we ridded him of the harpy." He cast a dark glance over his shoulder.  
  
Thorin said nothing. Bilbo's letter was tucked close under his tunic, in the very spot where his father's map of Erebor had rested. The feeling was very similar, a sense of going home and trepidation for what he might find.  
  
The thought of facing rejection was worse than that of facing a dragon.  
  
The sound of additional ponies signalled Kili and Bifur's arrival. Kili's face was unnaturally solemn, a hint of banked anger in his eyes. "If all of Bilbo's relatives are like that, we’re taking him back to Erebor, whether he agrees or not."  
  
Bifur nodded vigorously. "Nasty little weasel. To call Bilbo, her own blood-" he broke off into a string of Khuzdul insults.  
  
Thorin's own anger was tempered by guilt. To have Bilbo spoken of in that way by his own kin had Thorin hard pressed not to force the spiteful woman to swallow her vile words. But his own hypocrisy had stilled his tongue. He had spoken worse of Bilbo. Declared him a traitor, a vile manipulator who had wormed his way into Thorin's affections, used his voice, his body-  
  
Thorin choked back the vile flood of words. That he'd thought them was bad enough. But that he had flung them at Bilbo like barbed arrows, twisting them deeper to see the flash of hurt across his bloodied face, the shock in his wide eyes-  
  
It was worse than the dragon sickness. It had been borne of hurt and personable betrayal. Thorin had done everything he could to hurt Bilbo as badly as he had been.  
  
And on his darkest nights, Thorin couldn't be sure that he wouldn't have acted the same way even without the goad of dragon sickness. It had come from a dark place deep within him, one he knew had predated the quest for Erebor.  
  
Festering hurt, rage and resentment. Bottled up and swallowed down. It had built for decades and when it had finally released - one last betrayal, the only outsider he had let in and trusted with everything he was - Bilbo had borne the full brunt of it.  
  
Thorin would have killed him if Gandalf hadn't intervened. Thorin had wanted to kill him, the lover that had betrayed him. As if Bilbo's death might have washed away the dishonour of it, his own mistake of daring to trust, to make himself vulnerable in the foolishness of love.  
  
Bilbo, whom he loved.  
  
Would he have killed Bilbo if he had not been in the throes of dragon sickness? If Bilbo had not been forced to take the Arkenstone, would Thorin's bitter anger have been released at a later date, focused on Bilbo yet again?  
  
The thought haunted him. A fear that only grew when he reflected on his actions after he had broken free from the dragon sickness.  
  
Anger had blinded him. Wounded pride and betrayal's righteous rage.  
  
Even newly awakened from his madness, doubts had lingered. The theft of the Arkenstone, brokering deals with Thranduil and Dale who had moved against Erebor, compounding older betrayals...Whispering doubts had gathered. Was he fit king of Erebor, a proud son of Durin? He felt hollow, a caricature adorned by fur and gold that fit him ill. An exile weak to the madness that ran in his line.  
  
And what could Bilbo see in such a dwarf? Did not his actions show how little they were tied together? Even in the throes of his madness, Thorin had held Bilbo close to him. His small beloved figure shining brighter even than the siren song of gold that was his birth right.  
  
Yet Bilbo had used that regard to betray him.  
  
His madness broken, Thorin knew why Bilbo had done it. Why he had acted as he did.  
  
And yet...  
  
Doubt wound deep like a serpent into gold. What agreement could last between them after blood had been spilt and life threatened? How could Bilbo love him and still act as he did?  
  
Thorin had expected rejection and hardened himself against it. Against Bilbo.  
  
Against rejection confirmed when Bilbo slipped away in the aftermath of the battle. Without a word. Or hope.  
  
But Bilbo had kept the mithril and the bracelet had vanished with him. Surely that meant something? Thorin had clung to that hope even as he cursed it.   
  
The months after Bilbo left had been agony. In the weeks he was confined to the infirmary under Oin's care, his anger - reignited by Bilbo slipping away in the night, without any word - had slowly faded. Left with little to do but think between Balin's visits of state, awareness of the empty spot at his side had grown.  
  
During the last of the quest, Thorin had gotten used to have Bilbo at his side.  
  
It had been a surprise at first. Thorin, sitting apart as was his custom, was jolted by his thoughts by a sharp cough. He had looked up to find their burglar shifting nervously from foot to foot, two bowls in his hands. He'd handed one to Thorin and then, taking an unprecedented step, settled down beside him.  
  
Thorin wasn't sure how it happened but Bilbo seemed to end up at his side after that. And ever so slowly, Thorin began to look for Bilbo when he wasn't near.   
  
His absence in Erebor had been an open wound worse than those Thorin had received on the battlefield.  
  
Thorin thought on what could have been in the hours of long empty nights. What Bilbo's warmth at his side would have felt like. How he would grumble at the cold when Thorin inadvertently roused him as he left for matters of State. The joy he would have expressed at a full dwarven meal and the homey touches that would have crept into Thorin's chambers.  
  
Books and an armchair next to the fire.  
  
Dis had taken one look at him and known something was wrong. After fluctuating between anger at the danger her sons had faced and pride in their achievements, Dis had turned her attention to Thorin.  
  
Thorin had taken to avoiding her, as much as he could, injured and with limited mobility. Dis had finally cornered him in his chambers, patiently waiting with two tankards of ale.  
  
Dis was relentless when she put her mind to something.  
  
Thorin ended up telling her everything. How he and his Hobbit burglar had grown closer during the quest, how Bilbo had accepted his bead and worn it in a small braid hanging by his ear. How Bilbo had accepted their mothers' bracelet and clasped it tenderly to his chest. How Thorin had planned to renovate the Consort's Wing and commission a second throne. How he had been lost to dragon sickness and Bilbo had acted.   
  
How he had told Bilbo he never wanted to see him again and would kill him if he set foot in Erebor again.  
  
How Bilbo had believed him.  
  
Dis had been silent for a long moment then levelled him with a heavy stare. "Write to him." She had said. "Explain that you want him at your side." With that helpful advice, a bracing clasp of his shoulder, she had left in a sweep of fur and velvet skirts.  
  
Thorin had tried. None of his words seemed to say what he meant. Countless letters had been abandoned, others aborted before they were barely started. How was he meant to convince Bilbo of his sincerity, let alone give him reason enough to reply?  
  
And then a letter had come from the Shire. From Bilbo.  
  
Thorin had opened it with shaking hands, not sure what it would contain. He hadn't expected Bilbo to write at all.  
  
What he read had astounded him. Far from angry words and recriminations and bitter regrets. There had been apologies and sincere wishes for the future. A future in which Bilbo felt he had lost his place.  
  
The words were raw, spilled onto the page like blood. Bilbo still thought himself exiled. A thief and a liar. To blame for the whole situation.  
  
Thorin had felt himself grow cold and breathless with each shamed word he read.  
  
No letter would suffice. Thorin was not good with words like Bilbo. And he wasn't sure that Bilbo would believe them.   
  
Nor would Thorin wait any longer. He would see Bilbo face to face and convince him to come home. To their home in Erebor.  
  
That conviction had brought him all this way, through Mirkwood, over the mountains and into the gentle valleys of the Shire. Doubts had crept in as they neared the green hills of the Shire. Uncertainties only swayed by the letter tucked close to his breast.  
  
Bilbo wasn't happy, hadn't reclaimed the home he had left. His spiteful cousin's words had only confirmed what he has suspected from Bilbo's letter.  
  
It filled him with a low burning anger but also with hope.   
  
The path had turned, revealing the hillside dwellings of the hobbit folk. It wound gently before them, leading up to the large hill with the oak on its crest. Bag End. Bilbo's home.  
  
He exchanged a glance with Dwalin and swung from his pony's back, handing the reins over.  
  
"Talk to him." Dwalin advised. "Let him settle down over some tea."   
  
Thorin shot him a look - someone had been talking with Balin - but simply nodded. He glanced over his reduced company - Dwalin, Kili, Bifur and his new guards.  
  
Kili held his gaze. "We'll be back after lunch." Taking the narrow path down to the inn and giving Thorin time to talk to Bilbo alone.   
  
Thorin drew in a deep breath. He nodded once again and started down the path. Towards Bilbo.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo left his eyes fall shut, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. He opened them again to see a perfectly formed ring gently floating in the air before him.   
  
A faint sense of satisfaction filled him. He sat back, letting his back rest against the side of Bag End.   
  
It had been a good day. The peaceful routine that had been so jarring and unnatural had been close to familiar for once. He'd woken with energy and had decided to attack the weeds that had been taking over his Mother's Plot and become increasingly distressing for poor Hamfast.  
  
It had been good for him to work with soil again. To pull out the straggly grasses and spiny thickets that had sprouted. Returning order to what had been chaos.   
  
His mother had prepared the bed for her Planting soon after moving into Bag End. It had deep scarlet roses and fragile forget-me-nots, marigolds and sweet peas. But there were also strange grasses and odd creepers, a coil of glossy ivy and small cushion-like silvery bushes. Oddities gathered on her travels and carefully brought back to be planted and tended in the Shire.   
  
Bilbo had started his own Planting when he was a child, a mix of his mother's and father's plants with space for future plantings. A few additions had been made over the years but the empty spaces had remained. And Bilbo had been content with that before the quest.  
  
After working on his mother's Planting Bilbo was finally starting to think on his own. He had been avoiding it for months. The bare soil had been a reproach, a dull reminder of a life that could have been.  
  
But now. Now Bilbo was finally thinking that some of the spaces in his Plot should be filled.  
  
In time he hoped to sow the seeds he had gathered during the quest. A seed head from the small stubborn flowers that grew up on the mountains. A few nuts gathered along the dark road through Mirkwood. Strange dried pods he'd picked up from Beorn's garden and the small packet of seeds the skin changer had pressed into his hand as he left after his return visit.   
  
The acorn.  
  
The fragile seeds from the withered plant he had found on the field before Erebor.  
  
He had started gathering on the quest purely by habit. But slowly he had begun to pick his seeds with purpose, with a different Planting in mind. He didn't know what sort of garden he might create in Erebor but he was willing to try.  
  
As had Thorin. Bilbo's mouth twitched in a bittersweet smile. He still had the dried paper daisy Thorin had picked for him. It hadn't been in seed yet, but Bilbo hadn't the heart to tell Thorin that.  
  
Bilbo pressed his head back against the wall, stretching his neck. He fingered the pipe in his hands, tracing over the carving on the side of the bowl.   
  
There had been no reply to his letter. He had sent it months ago. Spring had turned to Summer and now the days were starting to shorten. It had been long enough for a letter to arrive from Erebor. If one had been written to be sent.  
  
The thought of it had been agony. That after pouring his thoughts out onto parchment, Thorin had not bothered to reply.   
  
He might not have even read it. Bilbo couldn't be certain that Thorin's anger and sense of betrayal hadn't led him to throw the letter into the fire unread.  
  
The thought had haunted him for weeks as the days stretched with silence. But as weeks turned to months, Bilbo found that there was only so long he could wait with hope for reply. Thorin would not be writing back, he realised. There would be no reply.  
  
It was almost worse than being banished. He knew Thorin had been angry. Hurt. But Bilbo hoped that he might have read Bilbo's letter, listened to his explanations. Considered reaching out like Bilbo had.  
  
Those hopes had been dashed.  
  
Bilbo had started spending more time in Bag End. Stopping his painfully short visits to the markets and walking the winding roads of the Shire. Instead he paced the halls of Bag End, started dozens of new letters and threw all of them into the fire in despair.  
  
There may have been several bouts of bitter crying, as well, but Bilbo tried not to think of those long nights.  
  
But Bilbo could not mourn forever. One day, instead of attempting another letter, he had started to gather all his failed efforts and throw them into the fire. The map of Erebor was set aside for the Baggins accounts, Thorin's portrait tucked away carefully in a draw.  
  
The bracelet, though. That stayed wrapped around his wrist, a bittersweet reminder he could not let go of.  
  
There were days where he could barely manage to get out of bed, let alone Bag End. But they were getting fewer and the days like today - with small tasks set and accomplished - were starting to grow in number.  
  
Bilbo had survived laughing at a dragon. He would survive Thorin Oakenshield as well.  
  
Bilbo opened his eyes, surveying his garden, the green bounty of the valley below. It still looked strange to him at times, smaller than he remembered. But it was starting to grow closer to what he remembered of home.  
  
He closed his eyes again, basking in the warmth of the sun. Trying to focus on the sun's caress and block out everything else.  
  
Seeking out a small kernel of peace.   
  
There was a creak. The front gate.  
  
Bilbo had left it unoiled for that very purpose, a warning of unwelcome visitors.  
  
He stayed still in the hopes that he wouldn't be seen, that his visitor would decide to move on.   
  
Instead, the creak became a long drawn out groan as the gate was swung open.  
  
Bilbo drew in a deep breath, head hanging down to hide his annoyance. He glared down at his knees. If it was Lobelia, he'd-  
  
Bilbo looked up and his pipe fell from numb fingers, hot ashes scattering carelessly across his feet and the ground.  
  
Thorin stood before him.   
  
For a moment Bilbo was sure that Lobelia was right and he had gone mad. But then Bilbo saw the changes. The thickened streaks of silver in Thorin's long dark hair. The jewelled beads threaded through his hair next to the plain silver that he had worn. The fine pale fur that edged his heavy cloak.  
  
A new scar cut across his long fine nose. But his eyes. His eyes were the same. Dark blue like a deep lake and Bilbo felt cut to the core by them.  
  
Thorin's gaze roved Bilbo's face, stopping as his eyes settled to one side. At the small braid hanging at Bilbo's ear.  
  
"You wear my bead." Thorin's voice was as deep as it ever was and Bilbo swayed as it echoed with the words Thorin had last spoke to him.   
  
Bilbo's finger's twitched. He had left Sting inside for once, he thought distantly. Not that was sure he could have lifted in defence. Not against Thorin.  
  
Not when he wasn't sure he shouldn't have been struck down.  
  
Thorin took a step forward and Bilbo flinched, back pressing against the wall behind him.  
  
Thorin stopped. With the sun behind him, his face could have been carved from stone.  
  
Had he come all this way to take it back? Bilbo thought, panicked edged. Cool metal met his fingers and Bilbo realised he was clutching at the bead, as if trying to hide it.  
  
He waited, shoulders hunched protectively even as his eyes darted across his garden, looking for an escape route.  
  
"Bilbo." Thorin's voice broke on his name, trembling on the last syllable.   
  
Bilbo found his gaze dragged back to Thorin, unable to ignore the sound of his name, wrecked, in that beloved voice.   
  
"Bilbo." Thorin took another slow careful step, his hands held out from his sides. "I have not come here to hurt you."   
  
There was no anger in his gaze. No sign of censure. Only a deep pain that Bilbo recognised from his own wan features in the mirror.   
  
"Then why did you come?" It came out more harshly than Bilbo had intended. His hand rose contritely as Thorin flinched.  
  
"It pains me that you have to ask." Thorin drew in a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment as if gathering strength. When he opened them again, they were filled with resolve. "I received your letter."  
  
Bilbo was speechless. He had hoped for a reply, longed for one, but he had never...never dreamed that Thorin would come to the Shire.   
  
"You received my letter," Bilbo repeated slowly. Thorin had read his letter. And come to the Shire.   
  
"I did," Thorin confirmed and Bilbo was horrified to realise that he had been speaking aloud.   
  
Thorin took another step closer, warily as he might a wild animal. "I could not stay away. Not when I knew you blamed yourself for my mistakes."  
  
Bilbo's hands were trembling. He clenched them at his sides. "I did what I had to." His voice wavered. "Even if you hated me for it."  
  
"Bilbo." Thorin's expression crumbled. "Gayadê. I could never hate you."  
  
Bilbo's vision blurred. "But you did." He choked on a sob, recalling the terrible look Thorin had given him. The vile words he had thrown. "You did."   
  
Large hands gingerly rested on his shoulders. "Bilbo." Thorin sounded lost, heartbroken. "Bilbo."   
  
Bilbo sagged against him, Thorin's arms folding around him, cautiously and then more firmly.   
  
Bilbo's fingers dug into the thick pale fur resting on Thorin's chest, breathing him in, scents both strange and familiar. "You cast me out." It was barely short of a wail.  
  
Thorin's arm's tightened around him, his breath hitching in his chest. "I was blinded by my pride." His voice wavered. "My anger."  
  
Bilbo let out a small pained sound.  
  
Thorin's voice thickened, his thick fingers moving slowly through Bilbo's tangled curls. "And in doing so, I cast aside that which was most precious, most beloved." He lowered his head, lips pressed to Bilbo's head. "I have wronged you, ukradel. Hurt you in ways that I can never mend."  
  
Bilbo's hands clutched harder, sinking deep into fur.  
  
"But I have come here to ask if you can forgive me." Thorin spoke into his curls, his deep voice ragged and desperate. "If you can once again look at me as you once did."   
  
Bilbo peered up at him blinking the tears from his gaze.   
  
Thorin pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, arms still wrapped tightly around Bilbo. Waiting patiently for whatever reply Bilbo would give.  
  
It was a familiar gaze, even filled with unshed tears. The open, warm fond regard that had snared Bilbo during the quest. Thorin guarded himself so tightly that when he allowed his affections to show it was like the sun appearing from behind clouds. Dazzling and impossibly warm.  
  
Bilbo heart clenched at the sight, longing and affection closing his throat. This was the Thorin he had fallen in love with. Who had loved him in return. "I never stopped." His words were choked, confession and heartbreak, barely above a whisper. His hands grasped tightly at Thorin's coat. "But-" He trailed off, unable to express the terrible mixture of anxiousness and hopeful terror.  
  
Even with Thorin before him, he could not forget.   
  
Thorin bent and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. And when Bilbo allowed it, a soft, reverent brush of lips. "But I have hurt you and bruised your heart." Thorin kissed Bilbo's cheek and rested their foreheads together. "I will earn your trust and love again, if you allow it." One of his large hands shifted, moving to gently clasp Bilbo's where it rested on his chest. "To mend what I have broken." He held Bilbo's gaze.  
  
Slowly, Bilbo loosened his hold on Thorin's coat and grasped the dwarf's hand in his own. He nodded.  
  
Thorin let out a shaky breath, lifting his head to press another kiss into Bilbo's hair. "I have missed you, my Bilbo."  
  
The pained confession was enough. Bilbo clutched at Thorin's hand tighter, a sob shaking his shoulders.  
  
For a long moment they simply stood, clasping each other, breaths mingling. Thorin's free hand tracing comfortingly over Bilbo's hair.  
  
Bilbo finally pulled back. He wiped at his eyes with one hand, the other clinging tightly to Thorin's large fingers. Even with Thorin standing before him, he wasn't sure the dwarf wouldn't disappear if he looked away.  
  
"You'd better come in." Most of the Shire was attending the markets but someone would come along the path sooner or later. And Bilbo didn't need to make another spectacle of himself.   
  
He didn't want to share Thorin with anyone at the moment. If they were to build what they once had, to heal, Bilbo would do so in private, not for the world to see.   
  
He tugged on Thorin's hand and the dwarf king willingly followed. Bilbo led Thorin into Bag End with a sense of hope and determination.  
  
It was the return to Bag End that he had hoped for at the end of the quest. Hand in hand with Thorin, sharing his home simply because it was part of his history.  
  
This was what he wanted. Thorin by his side. It wasn't settled by far - Bilbo was certain he owed the dwarf king a good scolding when he recovered from the shock of seeing Thorin again. But for now he had Thorin with him. Thorin who had crossed half of Arda for him and was giving no indication of letting go.  
  
Bilbo let out a tearful half huff of amusement as he pushed open the door and pulled Thorin inside.   
  
Thorin's hand tightened around his in encouragement and Bilbo shut the door behind them, closing out the world.   
  


* * *

  
  
Khuzdul translations:  
  
 **gayadê** \- 'my joy'  
  
 **ukradel** \- 'greatest heart of all hearts'


	4. Chapter 4

The dwarves hadn't left the Shire.  
  
If anything, it looked like they had decided to settle. They had all but moved into Bag End.  
  
Lobelia stared in the direction of Bag end with a narrow gaze. This wasn't what she'd planned when she'd given the dwarves directions.  
  
"They've been holed up in there with Master Baggins," Daisy Proudfoot expanded in a scandalised whisper. "Eight dwarves, all piled in there together." She shuddered. "I'd hate to think of the state of that smial."  
  
Lobelia's teeth ground. She'd been trying not to think about it. Those rough, rude creatures were likely scuffing the floors, breaking doors off their hinges and shattering any delicate furniture with their weight. It was appalling.  
  
"Causing all sort of ruckus, no doubt." Lobelia said sourly. And ruining Bag End while they were at it.  
  
Daisy's lips pursed, her brow furrowing. "Singing." She admitted dubiously. "If you can call it that."  
  
"I thought I heard Bilbo one night." Lily Stoor looked like she'd added too much lemon to her morning tea. She shook her head. "Disgracefully unHobbitish of him."  
  
"Bilbo Baggins can hardly be called a hobbit anymore." Lobelia said darkly. "Not since he returned. And there were signs even before that."  
  
Lily nodded in agreement, lips twisted in their sour grimace.  
  
"Perhaps that's why Bilbo's changed his will." Daisy mused.  
  
Lobelia head snapped around at the news. "His will?"  
  
Daisy nodded vigorously, her pale ringlets bobbing violently with the movement. "Halbert Took mentioned it to Franco Proudfoot. His sister told me yesterday at market."  
  
Halbert was a fool but an honest one. And he could never keep anything from Franco, even if he was a Proudfoot. "When was this?"  
  
Daisy blinked. "Two weeks ago, I think?"  
  
Lobelia bit back the uncomplimentary words that lay heavy on her tongue. Daisy wasn't the brightest of hobbits but she had her uses. "So soon after the dwarves arrived." She observed mildly, taking a sip of tea.  
  
Lily's eyes narrowed. A hint of suspicion glinting in their pale depths.  
  
"I hope Bilbo hasn't done anything rash." Lobelia continued, keeping an eye on the other two women's reactions. "Let his affections sway his duty to the Baggins line-"  
  
"They are not Hobbits," Lily cut in sharply.  
  
"But Bilbo treats them better than his own kin. As more than family." Lobelia knew she had the other woman when Lily's eyes widened in shock.  
  
The affront of it had filtered into Daisy's expression, her mouth parted in dismay. "But Bilbo-"  
  
"Bilbo has never taken a wife." Lobelia decided to twist the knife a little deeper. "Nor has he ever given interest in doing so."  
  
Lily gave her a sharp look at that. If the disgusted twist to her mouth was any indication, she hadn't missed the implications.  
  
Lobelia quickly took her leave, being sure to leave a few more seeds of doubt to encourage more rumours. The arrival of the dwarves had helped in that regard. That Bilbo had taken in more than half a dozen dwarves made it easy to link even less savoury behaviours to his name.  
  
What reputation he had regained was now little more than a tattered rag of a flag. And Lobelia hadn't even had to mention his _proclivities_.  
  
Not outright, anyway. Lily Stoor had an inkling now and it wouldn't take much for her to piece together the story Lobelia wanted.  
  
And all the better it was from Lily's mouth. She had been the catalyst for Galhast Stonefoot's ousting from the Shire several decades ago. He had taken up with a Man if the rumours were to be believed. And had shown even less discretion than Bilbo.  
  
It would only take time, Lobelia knew. Time enough for Lily to start taking and the Bolgers and Chubbs to get wind of the perversion in Bag End. Not even Bilbo's quick words or the Thain's intervention would be able to save him.  
  
Lobelia marched determinedly up the path towards Bag End. It may be infested with dwarves but it was still the smial Lobelia was determined to get her hands on. She at least needed to see if there had been any damage.  
  
If there was, that was simply more evidence that Bilbo had lost his mind.  
  
Bag End looked...better than it had been in months, Lobelia admitted grudgingly. With all the dwarves trudging through his garden, it should have looked a horror but Bilbo seemed to have managed time to tend to it between entertaining his dwarves.  
  
Entertaining. Lobelia shuddered, resolving to thoroughly clean the smial floor to ceiling when she had Bag End safely in her care. A lot of things would have to be thrown out altogether.  
  
Her eye caught sight of Belladonna's Plot. The wild profusion of flowers that had resisted efforts to stunt their growth in the past. Ground lime and bitter oil had failed to burn roots and stunt growth. Not even a hand full of root-eaters, surreptitiously flung into the leafy undergrowth.  
  
Now even Bilbo's half-hearted Plot had flourished. Staples of the Shire mixed in with Belladonna's exotics. Strange plants that Bilbo had returned with, natured from seed since his return and now a thriving profusion.  
  
It wouldn't do. A Hobbit's Plot was an indicator of their state of mind. And Lobelia needed Bilbo's to reflect his madness, the perversion he nurtured.  
  
It had to go.  
  
With a quick glance either side of the path, Lobelia snuck up the grassy hill, out of sight of Bag End's windows. Hiking up her skirts, she slipped over Bilbo's fence and crouched low on the lawn. It only took a few quick sliding steps and then she was in reach of Bilbo's Plot.  
  
A split in the roots, a discrete cut in the stems. It would look like negligence on Bilbo's part and no one would be the wiser.  
  
No one would question it at all.  
  
Lobelia reached out for the nearest sprout, a strange low growing plant with several small fragile buds. Easy enough to cripple.  
  
She was just about to touch soil when something large moved behind her.  
  
Lobelia twisted, surging up from the ground-  
  
To find the hooded dwarf standing close behind her.  
  
He was no longer wearing his hooded cloak, dressed in simple tunic and trousers, his feet covered in boots. His hair was tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, revealing the terrible scowl on his face.  
  
His dark blue eyes bored into her, as devoid of emotion as his face. "I thought it was polite behaviour for hobbits to knock to announce themselves."  
  
Lobelia drew herself up to her full height. Who was this dwarf to lecture her on manners in the Shire?  
  
"Lobelia." It was Bilbo, two dwarves in tow. He was dressed carelessly in shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his braces hanging loose at his waist. The whore-bracelet boldly adorned his wrist, glittering brilliantly in the light.  
  
Lobelia stared at him in disgust. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.  
  
Bilbo met her gaze levelly. He stopped at the dark haired dwarf's side and calmly _took his hand_. "Lobelia, I don't think you've been introduced."  
  
Lobelia recoiled. Introduced?  
  
"This is Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo sounded proud of all things. "King of Erebor."  
  
King? What did it matter if this dwarf called himself a king? He was a filthy, rude, brute of-  
  
"My betrothed."  
  
Lobelia gaped at him. At the dwarves standing around staring at her as if this were all _normal_. As if marrying another male, let alone a dwarf, wasn't _madness_.  
  
"You can't-" Lobelia spluttered, unable to voice the abomination. "This is the Shire-" Her words trailed off as the dwarf - did Bilbo think she was so gullible to believe he was a _king_ \- holding Bilbo's hand fixed her with a chilly stare.  
  
Bilbo smiled at the look on her face, a terse, humourless expression. "It's all quite legal, no matter how things are done in the Shire."  
  
"Bilbo is khajmel." The young dwarf added, coming forward to lay a large hand on Bilbo's shoulder. He fixed Lobelia with a warning stare. "In Erebor he will be Royal Consort, second only to the King."  
  
Outrage and triumph had Lobelia grasping her parasol in fury. Enraged that once again Bilbo had managed to not just worm his way out of trouble but into riches and power. And he chose to rub her face in it.  
  
And yet. If Bilbo were to leave for some far off dwarven kingdom Bag End would be left empty.  
  
She _had_ wanted to get rid of Bilbo after all.  
  
"Kingly titles mean very little in the Shire," Lobelia retorted coldly. She fixed her attention on Bilbo. "Run off again. No one will mourn your leaving." She ignored the large dwarf's growl, the look of outrage on the others' hairy faces. "You lost your respectability long ago - this _lapse_ in morals will only confirm what was long suspected." Lobelia watched Bilbo closely, delighting in the minute lapses in his expression, the small flinches her words earned. "That Bilbo Baggins has fallen to the worst sort of low acts, selling his _services_."  
  
Lobelia smiled as Bilbo turned ashen, the dwarves hissing angrily. "You may hold Bag End for now, but it won't be long."  
  
The large dwarf made an aggressive step towards her, only to be held back by Bilbo's grip on his hand.  
  
"No." Bilbo said calmly. "I plan to return with Thorin to Erebor. But Bag End will never be yours, Lobelia."  
  
Lobelia's eyes narrowed into slits. "So you say. But all of the Shire knows you've not been in your right mind since your return. Your wishes count for very little," she sneered. "Less so when you leave the Shire behind you."  
  
"In the Shire or not, you are talking to the Consort of Erebor. Show some respect." The bald dwarf loomed out of nowhere. His axes were missing but the scowl on his face and his cracking knuckles were enough to have Lobelia skipping backwards.  
  
"You wouldn't dare!" Lobelia brandished her parasol. "You-"  
  
"I've made Drogo my heir." Bilbo cut in tersely. "And if the worse happen, Esmeralda Took and her descendants will then inherit." Bilbo held her gaze evenly, a spark of anger finally coming to the fore. "Your efforts have been quite in vain, Lobelia. Bag End will never be yours."  
  
Lobelia gave him a daggered stare. She opened her mouth, about to tell him just how secure his will was with the rumours of mental instability surrounding him.  
  
Bilbo cut her off before she could. "So the Thain has agreed, the Took and the Master of Buckland. The line of inheritance is clear." Bilbo fixed Lobelia with a level stare. "So you see, Lobelia. Bag End is safely out of your reach."  
  
"We'll see about that." With a look of disdain, Lobelia skirted around Bilbo and his dwarves, making sure her skirts didn't brush them. She glared back at the bald one as he glowered at her.  
  
Bilbo simply watched her go, saying nothing until she had nearly reached the gate. "Lobelia."  
  
Lobelia stopped on the path, frozen by deadly cold tone of Bilbo's words.  
  
"There are not many crimes that the Shire holds unforgivable but desecrating another Hobbit's Plot is one of them."  
  
Lobelia's blood froze. He knew. How had he known?  
  
Bilbo continued, implacable. "Anyone found guilty of it would be in danger of losing their property and rights of inheritance. Let alone their reputation in the Shire."  
  
Lobelia flung open the gate and hurried down the path, chilled and suddenly without plans.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Khuzdul:**  
  
**khajmel** \- 'gift of all gifts'. I like to think this could be a term used to describe new family members brought in by marriage or adoption :)  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end. I hope you've all enjoyed this take on Bilbo's return and the aftermath :)


End file.
